Hold 'Em
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: "Oh. Well I suppose you'll have to come and get it yourself." Tony. Ziva. Strip poker.


**note: **Okay, about this. I woke up to find a demand from Sophie and Anne, to write something that was, I quote "a Tiva strip poker fic". That's basically all I had to go on. I know nothing about poker, nor strip poker, so I was kinda going in blind. This is what I ended up with.  
As a warning, this rated a pretty high T. I didn't want to rate it M because that seemed like overkill, but though it's not exceptionally explicit it's not just random fluff, okay?  
Also, I'm aware I'm currently the worst replier-to-reviews ever. I'm currently juggling keeping up writing, as well as my internet accounts, with revision and exams, and right now I'm failing. I really don't have a day to put aside specifically for reviews, and for that, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy this regardless.

**disclaimer: **You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you buy a varsity jacket because it reminds you of a fic you once read.

**listening to: **Bulletproof Weeks, by Matt Nathanson

* * *

She's three glasses ahead of him when she suggests it. It's past midnight and empty bottles litter the floor, and suddenly her leg's slung over his lap and she's murmuring something about strip poker into his ear.  
He's also by no means sober and he sends her a wicked grin, then stands to find a pack of cards he's sure are hidden in a drawer somewhere or other. He's mildly surprised they've passed three months of being together and haven't tried this yet.

Sauntering back into the living room, he laughs as he sees Ziva kneeling by the coffee table, smiling almost innocently but with eyes that sparkle with excitement and seduction.

"I... don't really remember how to play poker." he says, off-handedly, knowing completely that this won't change a thing.

She laughs and throws her head back, and he raises an eyebrow before sitting down and leaning his back against the couch.

"Well what are you waiting for?" she asks, and he throws the cards onto the table.

She deals them out and sets the remaining ones aside, and he takes the cards as if he knows what he's doing. Taking in her expression again, he looks at his hand and grins.

Well, this'll be fun.

**000000**

Twenty minutes later it's clear this wasn't such a good idea. Oh yeah, it'll result in sex and he's perfectly fine with that, but he's sure Ziva should be wearing much less than she is right now.

She's only lost her shirt thus far, and though yes, he quite enjoys raking his eyes over her and taking in all the skin that's on show, he himself has lost his shirt, his pants, and one sock, and it's getting a little cold.

Taking a drink, she deals again, and he looks to the hand he's currently holding. He knows his poker face needs improving; he can't help the grin that spreads out over his lips. A poker expert he is not, but he knows enough to realise that right now, he's got a full house.

"Your bra."

Her eyebrows raise and he knows she's working out that he does, in fact, have a good hand this time.

"Okay."  
She gives her own demand of his other sock- she's drawing it out, he knows- and places her cards down on the table.

Chuckling, he places his own, but his eyes remain firmly on her face. Her eyes widen and her mouth falls slack, and she looks at him, surprised.

"Oh. Well I suppose you'll have to come and get it yourself."

Now he's the surprised one.

He takes another gulp of wine, still catching up with her, and stands, walking round to her side. She smirks at his mismatching feet but says nothing, merely taking the hand he outstretches to her.  
And get it himself, he does.

His arms reach round her and his hands follow the fabric until they stop at the clasp, and he almost expertly unhooks it until it falls loose at her back. Holding a strap in each hand, he pulls them down her arms, keeping his eyes locked with hers until it falls to the ground, forgotten, much like the cards on the table.  
His gaze falls to her chest, then, and he trails a hand down the valley of her breasts before running his thumb just below one of them. Lust spikes within him at the heat of her skin and the sudden increase of her breathing, and when he looks back at her there's something wild within her eyes.

She lurches forward and kisses him, and she tastes like wine and spice and wait, and he knows this is something he'll never get used to. Whilst his tongue finds its way into her mouth and he does some exploring there, his hands wander without thought and undo her pants, pulling her toward him at the same time.  
Their bare chests brush together and she shudders, and he pulls her pants off before picking her up off the ground. Her legs wrap round his waist and she's impatient, if the way she moves to grip his boxers indicates anything.

He grips her hips and they stumble to the bedroom, somehow, but never quite make it to the bed.

**000000**

"You weren't very good, Tony." she says, brow furrowed as she leans down to pick up another bottle. He says nothing at her pained expression as she stands fully again. Both their heads are pounding this morning, and he senses they'll be doing little more than lounging about all day.

"Hey, I did get a full house, I wasn't _that_ bad."

"You got it purely by accident, and you were terrible at pretending you didn't. Could you pick up the cards, please?"

When he turns round, he finds the aforementioned cards are _everywhere_. He knew the two of them weren't exactly trying to be neat last night, but when he finds the king of hearts behind the couch he's a little stunned. Their memories are both slightly fuzzy- something he blames on the apparent 5 bottles of wine they consumed- but he fails to remember when they seemed to throw the pack across the room. He does recall, however, that he'll be proud of a full house for a while to come yet.

"Ooh, I found your bra!" he says in a sing-song voice, and she pokes her head round from the kitchen with an amused, if tired, expression.

"Well done. Add it to the laundry pile."

He leaves it on the couch, in fact, and walks into the kitchen instead, slipping his hands round Ziva's waist.  
"Last night was fun, though, right?"

"Yes. It was."

Laughing, he spins her round and kisses her chastely.

"I'm still not going to say you were good at it."

He pouts, kisses her again, and walks back to the living room. It was worth a shot.


End file.
